


The Gentleman Knight

by TheSilverQueen



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Background Merlin/Roxy Morton, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, SHIELD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 09:59:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9066928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilverQueen/pseuds/TheSilverQueen
Summary: HYDRA finds Harry Hart sprawled on the ground outside of a church of dead men and women. He is already a legend; now, they will make him a nightmare to be reckoned with.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my (late) entry to [Reel Kingsman Round 2](http://reel-kingsman.tumblr.com/). I'm not sure if I did this right because I originally started out with the intention of basing it off Captain America: The Winter Soldier only for it turn into a merged universe with CA:TWS, soooooo. Creative license?
> 
> Also HUUUUGGGEEEE shout-outs to my beloved [InsaneRedDragon](http://insanereddragon.tumblr.com/) and [Elletromil](http://elletromil.tumblr.com/), who both encouraged me when I got stuck and helped me work out the code word equivalents for Harry based on Bucky's words. You two rock and I can't ever possibly repay you for all that you've done for me. *hugs*

**potential.**

They find Harry Hart sprawled on the ground outside of a church of dead men and women.

One man whistles. “Daaaamn, that is impressive.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, he didn’t kill them all,” snaps another, although they all know they’re impressed. Everyone has heard tales of the impressive shadow agent Galahad, knight of the round table, but seeing his body count in action is still something to be admired.

Of course, the entire world has a body count to be marveled at right now. Even organizations that were more secret than Kingsman feel the sting of Valentine’s ingenious little plan, and even the Lady must soon replace members of her retinue. Yet she admires Valentine’s gut, even if his execution was flawed, and there are many eager to learn the secrets of his abilities. 

Harry Hart can be the answer to that and much, much, much more.

The Lady kneels down, uncaring of the dust or blood. “Impressive,” she murmurs. “And yet still he breathes.”

And it is true, for although the blood beneath Harry is more akin to an ocean than any pool, his chest still rises and falls, just a smidge. There is broken glass and scattered black segments along his face, and so the Lady guesses that Kingsman technology saved the agent from certain death, but how or why Harry Hart survived is not for her to worry about.

They do not question when advantages come their way. They merely take them.

“Bring the asset,” the Lady orders. “There is work to be done.”

Harry Hart is a legend amongst the underground. Now, they will make him into a nightmare.

* * * * * * * * *

After they scoop up Roxy, it’s a nonstop trip to drop off the most important royal dignitaries while communicating with embassies and other organizations and other branches of Kingsman to sort out the rest. The Queen and her family bid them farewell at England, and Eggsy’s so tired at that point that Roxy more or less pokes him through the final ritual of bowing and saying good-bye in the proper terms.

He’s so tired, in fact, that he sleeps the entire way back to Kingsman HQ, and the sight of Roxy and Merlin snogging in the cockpit warrants nothing but a yawn and a “Do you have a pillow?”

They spring apart, but Eggsy doesn’t really care. He’s seen it coming for a little while; the quick looks, the warmth in their voices, the way they automatically are drawn to each other. And hey, who’s Eggsy to judge about who or who not to fall in love with? It’s not like he’s got much ground to stand on, and Merlin’s a damn sight better of a bloke than most. Even if he wasn’t, Roxy can hold her own.

Eggsy sort of sleepwalks through the disembarking and the unpacking, and his coordination with other handlers is done mostly on autopilot, exactly the same way Merlin and his training prepared him to be.

That is probably why Eggsy gets all the way to the sword on his shoulder as he’s kneeling before he realizes that he’s in the process of becoming a legitimate Kingsman.

He has a quiet – or not so quiet – freak out in the bathroom.

Thankfully, Roxy comes to his rescue. “You’ve already saved the world,” she tells him, after smacking him up the head and then opening the cabinet for more tissues and toilet paper, since he’s already gone through everything in the bathroom. “Now this is just making it official, what’s the problem with that?”

Eggsy wants to tell her – he really, really, really wants to tell her – about Harry, about his final test, about everything he’s said and done and how the memory Harry leaving is somehow more bitter and painful than the memory of seeing the camera tilt to the sky and shatter into a million pieces, but he can’t. The words get stuck somewhere from his heart to his mouth and they just won’t come out. His heart is cracking into a million pieces and he feels like if he even mentioned one of them, they’d all coming falling out like a thousand shards of a mirror, slicing him to bits on the way out.

Roxy grabs him by the shoulders, and she’s strong but he already knew that. 

“Garry Eggsy Unwin,” she says, “look at me. _Look_ at me. Harry believed in you. Harry trusted you. Harry knew you could do it. And in the moment when the world most needed you, you came through. Just because Harry’s not here to say it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be proud of you.”

Somehow, her words give Eggsy the strength he needs, and he manages to go back out and let Merlin knight him and sit at the table as a full Kingsman, although he refuses Harry’s seat and Harry’s title.

“I have an idea,” says Percival. “We haven’t had a Mordred in ages. I think it’ll do nicely.”

Eggsy imagines the way Harry would have sighed and said, “Eggsy, that is not the proper way to do things here,” and it makes him smile, so he takes it.

And so Agent Mordred takes his place at the table of Kingsman again, for the first time in very, very, very long time.

* * * * * * * * *

When the asset wakes up, it’s in fits and starts, flashes here and there when it regains consciousness and his gut instincts prompt him to lash out. After the first time it nearly chokes out a doctor, they wise up and strap it down with heavy duty cuffs and thick restraints that leave it unable to do anything except perhaps roll its eyes.

They would normally sedate a new asset, but for this one there’s no need. 

It’s just an eyeball, after all, not like a new arm.

The eye is the pinnacle of modern technology, capable of transmitting through almost any material and for a remarkable range. It requires no batteries or long-charges, although technical maintenance will still be a regular thing. And, of course, in the most beautiful thing of all – the asset’s body rejects the implant.

“Good,” the Lady says. “We don’t need another runner.”

They’ve already lost several Widows, but this asset will not be able to run. Even if he can’t remember what he’s running towards, without the steady supply of carefully concocted medicine that leaves him addicted and addled, the eye would poison his body and leave him dead very shortly afterwards. It’s the perfect leash, and now all that’s left to is to make the collar and tighten it into a noose.

For a long time, all that comes from the asset are numbers and meaningless names, but eventually, in time, all that’s left are screams. 

They are incredibly skilled in what they do. Screams are an encouraging sign. The Lady debates removing an arm or leg, but eventually the powers-that-be decide against it. Far easier, they say, to hide an eye than an arm or leg, and this asset will be the sniper no one ever saw coming. He will be the scalpel to the dagger of the Widow and the sword of the Winter Soldier, and with that trio there will be nothing to stand in their way.

Eventually, one day, the Lady descends to the basement where the Asset hangs, panting and sweating.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

The Asset stares at her. “It . . . It doesn’t . . . have a name,” it says finally, halting and slow, flinching at each word as the scientists frantically write and the doctors’ fingers twitch on the controls.

“Where are you from?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“And who do you belong to?”

“HYDRA,” the Asset says, wonderment and relief in its tone at a question it can answer without hesitation or ignorance.

“Excellent,” the Lady beams. “Now begin.”

* * *

**clouded.**

The Asset is trained and trained and trained, honed like a blade by hammers and fire, sharpened and strengthened until it is a weapon without match, unquestioning, unflinching, and unstoppable. It does not take too long, for the Asset came with skills already that made it formidable, so most of the training is to wipe away any kind of restraint, any kind of hesitation, any measure of resistance. 

Eventually, the Asset speaks less and less and less, until finally it barely says anything at all, communicating in gestures and acquiescing in nods.

The powers that be are not concerned by this. If anything, they welcome one who does not speak.

Finally the day comes where the Asset, for the first time, attacks on its own volition once unleashed, decimating the hapless prisoners who scream and plead as he marches inexorably forward, face blank and hands steady. Normally, in the past, they had needed to encourage it or give it orders, but now they give it a gun and it moves forward, killing with ease and leaving no one left alive. Most importantly, it also retains the frame of mind to clean up after itself, wiping away traces of its presence and leaving the scene as if a ghost, reporting back to its handlers as blankly as it had started, no bloodlust and no weariness.

That is the day the Lady goes to the powers that be and says, “It’s ready.”

They watch the footage, and they agree.

“But now is not the time,” they say. “SHIELD has crumbled; of that, we have no doubt. But other organizations have remained steadfast and wary, more so now than ever. Now is not the time to show our hand.”

“It won’t be seen.”

“The man that the Asset was,” they warn, “he was known to be flashy. His signatures were writ large across his kills like solar flares upon the sun.”

In response, the Lady picks up the remote and replays the footage, where the Asset had killed quickly, without mercy, and without flare. Most had died of a single perfectly aimed gunshot, and those who got too close were instead treated to broken necks or severed arteries. Any number of trained weapons could claim such kills as their signature, given their neat and quick execution. 

“It’s ready,” she repeats.

The powers that be refuse her, and tell her to work on the memory wipes. “We do not need a repeat,” they say, and it is not a warning. It is a threat and everyone in the room knows it. 

And so the Asset goes back on ice, wiped and wiped again, until every last trace of the memory of its memories have been identified and blotted clean. There are extensive notes and maps taken, so that each memory is pinpointed even after erasure, and that way every time the Asset is taken out for a refresher, the memories are wiped anew, even if they no longer exist, until the Asset fails to remember that it is even missing anything.

HYDRA waits and plans and waits.

* * * * * * * * *

Eggsy trains and trains and trains, throwing himself into the regimen of a Kingsman agent. Generally, Merlin tells him with bags under his eyes and five empty coffee cups littering the table, new agents rotate through missions with different handlers under the guidance of senior Kingsman agents, to gain experience with a safety net. Even when two new Knights are brought on, the tradition generally holds, and if everything had gone right, Roxy would have spent time with Percival and Eggsy with Harry.

Unfortunately, that is not the case now. 

They have lost four agents from the table, either to Valentine’s head chips or to deadly fights in missions, and countless numbers of support staff from many of the various branches, so basically, they don’t have time to spare.

Roxy and Eggsy are given one night to be outfitted and given last minute advice and training, and then they jet off. 

He’s in South Korea one day and South Africa the next, then France and Canada and Australia and Malaysia and more and more and more, until in a month he looks at in the mirror and realizes that the dust on his suit is composed of so many countries he doesn’t even remember the order anymore. If he had a passport – and, you know, legally and properly entered all of those countries – he would have long run out of space for all the stamps he would have collected.

Roxy isn’t much better. Her face grows wan and pale, sharp with determination, and her eyes speak to the weariness of her constant journeying.

The real king of exhaustion is Merlin, though, as they’re all so busy that no one’s sat still long enough to start the process of electing a new Arthur, meaning that he bears the burden of both the quartermaster and the de facto head of Kingsman, and every time Eggsy sees him in person Merlin appears both skinnier and more percentage caffeine.

Finally, one rare sunny day when Eggsy, Roxy, and Percival are all in headquarters at the same time – Roxy has a busted leg, Eggsy has a sprained rib, and Percival is recovering from an attempted drowning – they gang up on Merlin and drag him out of his coffee-mug-littered cave, protesting and feebly trying to wriggle free, a far sight from the lean, hardened man who’d defeated all the recruits in hand-to-hand combat without breaking a sweat or even looking up from his clipboard. They give him food that isn’t rations and beverages that aren’t coffee and Roxy steals away his glasses with a kiss, and so they all end up at Percival’s house, eating and trading stories and relaxing as Merlin passes out on the sofa, one hand curled into Roxy’s sweater.

“It’s never been this bad,” Percival admits. “I really feel bad for him, and you two. You really got the short end of the stick.”

Roxy and Eggsy don’t say anything to that, because, well, they know. And it doesn’t get much worse than knowing that the world has screwed you over and there isn’t really that much you can do because you’re still trying not to fall off the cliff as you pull the world back on its feet.

“Still,” Percival says, “this was nice. I look forward to seeing you two in action at the table.”

“When do you think we’ll get a new Arthur?” Roxy asks.

Percival shrugs. “Whenever Merlin calls for a vote and enough of the Kingsman are here to sit at the table. Tradition holds that we vote in person or by proxy, not by electronic meetings.”

Roxy and Eggsy share a glance at that, because they both understand exactly what Percival is trying to say. The Kingsman are rarely ever in headquarters together for a lot of reasons – among them not destroying the entire mansion in pranks and also so that if anything happens some Kingsman survive – but with the way the world’s going, the Kingsman are just going to be too damn busy to come back and cast votes in the posh traditional way it’s surely usually done.

“So basically,” Eggsy says, taking another long appreciative swallow of Percival’s stash of wine, “the next time it’s sunny in England, yeah?”

Percival raises his glass. “Better chances than I would have given it.”

As luck has it, they never get that far. 

The next day, when Merlin wakes up rested but still growly, the sun has vanished and left behind only the looming cloudiness that’s become pretty standard. And that, of course, is the type of day it is when the headquarters of the main United Kingdom branch of the Kingsman agency is blown the hell up.

* * *

**fifty.**

When they finally get the green light, nothing is rushed. HYDRA is as HYDRA does, and if there’s one thing HYDRA is, it’s meticulous. 

The Asset is given full access to all the blueprints and leeway to plan the assault, as a final test of the memory work and its loyalty. To the Lady’s pleasure, the Asset shows no recognition of the blueprints of the Kingsman mansion, even if it also means that it has no memory of specific weaknesses that could be targeted. Instead the Asset trains with mock reenactments and repurposed buildings, learning new styles and testing new ideas. It shows a particular fondness for explosives, which makes the Lady frown and most of the scientists twitch, but thankfully nothing else unexpected shows up.

They push the Asset to the limits and beyond, testing its capabilities to fight on a stomach long past growling and into starvation, its ability to fight on instinct when it hasn’t rested in days, its loyalty if captured and tortured. It learns to associate capture with unacceptable, because failure is not something HYDRA accepts. It is success or else.

The first time the Asset fails, the scientists get new data on how long it takes a human to die of repeated blood loss.

The second time the Asset fails, the scientists get new data on how long the human body can sustain freezing cold for extended periods of times.

The Asset does not fail for a third time. 

If anything, the Asset grows even more ruthless, striking without hesitation or checking, and it grows even more violent every time it is awakened from cryosleep, until they are forced to make it associate electrocution with moving whilst in the cryochamber, so that it does not move for fear of pain until it has been safely unstrapped.

Two doctors die until the programming is complete, but the Lady merely shrugs. The soldiers of HYDRA owe HYDRA their lives and their deaths, and the doctors sworn to secrecy on this project are no different.

After weeks of planning and requests and vetting, finally, the Asset is given its final check-up and sent on its way.

“Fifty hours,” the Lady tells it, and it nods orders confirmed.

She does not tell it that the dosage of medication to keep the poisoning of its bionic eye is not designed to last even half a second longer than fifty hours. After all, the Asset is useful, but not necessarily irreplaceable. 

* * * * * * * * *

The first fifty hours after the explosion are hell are earth, even more so than fighting through Valentine’s bunker of crazy people.

Eggsy happens to be with Merlin and Roxy when everything goes bananas, so he gets a firsthand impression of why no one ever questions the quartermaster – and why some people whisper that it is Merlin, not the knights, who is the power behind the throne. Merlin becomes a steely beacon of destruction, forging a path ahead and dragging a stunned Roxy and Eggsy behind him. By the time their instincts have kicked in, Merlin’s already downed three men, vicious and no holds barred, and then it’s a long struggle to get out.

They skip the train and head straight for the forest, relying on the go-bag Merlin grabbed from somewhere and the trainee pack Roxy had the brains to snag as they ran.

Merlin volunteers to take first watch, but Eggsy still wakes up to hear him chuck his tablet into the ground with a loud groan. Eggsy freezes and debates whether to act, because he still vividly remembers the sight of Merlin casually stabbing a man in the throat with a pen, but thankfully Roxy scrambles up.

“Hey, hey,” she says, kneeling before Merlin with the eyes of a steadfast angel on a shoulder, “they’re probably busy, yeah? Surviving and finding a place to lay low.”

“I should still – ”

Roxy shakes him, hard, like shaking a snowglobe to set the snow to a new configuration of snow and glitter falling on the statues within. It’s not guaranteed the outcome you want, but it’s better than just staring and praying. “Should nothing,” she tells him firmly. “You _trained_ us, Merlin. You trained all of us. We all know what to do because of you. You’ve done your part; now let us do ours.”

“I’m supposed to be the eyes in the back of your head,” Merlin whispers, voice catching as he leans down to bury his head in Roxy’s shoulders. “I’m supposed to take care of all of you.”

Roxy smiles, and it’s so tender it makes Eggsy blush violently even from six feet away where he’s huddling in his coat. “Not in the field, quartermaster,” she says. “In the field, you’re our top priority. We take care of you. Right, Eggsy?”

“Um – oh yeah! Right! Yeah.”

Merlin laughs at his response, and at long last some of the tension drains from his poor shoulders. After that, it’s easy for them to coax Merlin to finally eat some of the rations they warmed in his self-heating tins, to take off the glasses that have long been disconnected and haven’t managed to pick up any signals from any of the knights, and to curl up with the blanket and take a stab at resting for at least a few hours. He fusses and threatens to end them if they don’t wake up for the next rotation, but it’s weak, and after Roxy finally chucks her canteen at his head in the middle of his recitation, he finally gives up and sleeps.

Eggsy sidles over to her. “So,” he says, “you and Merlin, yeah?”

“Shut up, Eggy.”

“Oi, I thought we sorted that,” Eggsy snaps, but there’s not heat to his tone. Nothing annoys Eggsy more than when Roxy calls him “Eggy” so that’s exactly what she does when they’re playing around, which is why Eggsy’s spent most of training desperately trying to find a nickname that annoys her as much as Eggy annoys him. Unfortunately, he hasn’t been half as successful as she has at finding buttons to press.

“We did,” Roxy says in an amused voice. “I’m Lancelot and you’re Eggy.”

“You – !”

“If you wake Merlin I will end you myself.”

They settle, instead, for a particularly vicious set of thumb war and I Spy to pass the time.

* * *

**umbrella.**

“What I’d give for an umbrella,” Eggsy groans from where he’s huddled under the tiniest little overhang known to man. And yeah, normally he’s never without a Rainmaker because every Kingsman has a signature weapon and Eggsy’s is his umbrella, but they’d ditched everything conspicuous or blatant on the way over. They are quite literally wearing almost nothing but the clothes on their backs as they wait for the Statesman to respond to Merlin’s request.

And at the last check-in, according to a shivering Roxy, they hadn’t even acknowledged Merlin’s request.

His glasses beep. “How are you holding up, laddie?”

“This is worse than the time you tried to drown us.”

Merlin doesn’t laugh, because he’s a professional and also twisted tight into a ball of knots about backup plans if the Statesman refuse them sanctuary, but there’s still just a little bit of a lighter edge in his voice when he finally responds. “I wasn’t trying to drown you, I was testing your reflexes and cognitive abilities.”

“The time you poisoned us?”

“Testing your ability to read lies and take care of yourself in unfamiliar territory.”

“Merlin, you tied us upside down and – ”

There’s a quiet cough from beside him, and Eggsy sheepishly tips his hat to the woman who’s come up. She, quite sensibly, is wearing a poncho and has an umbrella, but he can’t read her face due to the dark sunglasses that obscure most of it. 

“Good morning. Terrible weather, isn’t it?” 

“Won’t argue with that.”

The woman smiles, but it’s not friendly. A tight, neat little smile, like a coloring book with all of its drawings precisely filled in, not one millimeter out of the lines. “I find it’s much easier to stay dry with friends, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh, I – I have friends, ma’am, I’m not homeless.”

The woman sighs. “Tell Merlin that he’s lucky Morgana owed him a favor. He knows where to go. Bring any weapons and you’ll be dead before you’re five steps in.”

Then she opens her umbrella, steps into a car that pulls up out of nowhere, and is gone before Eggsy can stop spluttering.

“Uh, Merlin?”

“Yeah, I got all of that, lad. Good call picking her out of the crowd.”

There’s a click and Roxy chimes in, “The device is working, Merlin, I’ve got her signal strong and clear moving south. And she’s not alone, she just joined a convoy of a few other cars as well.”

“It’s a Statesmen thing,” Merlin mutters. “Ready to get out of the rain, laddie?”

“Hell yes,” Eggsy says.

* * * * * * * * *

The Asset isn’t quite sure what to make of the newest tests the scientists have rigged up. Generally, every once in a while, they do ask it questions about things it doesn’t quite understand – for example, why does it matter that it was given an order to kill a terrier? There are many more in the world – but this is the first time that they’ve simply given it an object and watched.

And the object is rather common too, simply an umbrella. In a place that rains all the time, the Asset would consider it not out of place at all.

Could it be a weapon? Certainly. The Asset can make a weapon out of anything.

Could it be something from the time before Hydra? Most likely. Again, if the Asset lived in London, it’s likely the Asset used to own its own umbrella, if not passed many on the streets.

Yet the Asset does not need an umbrella. It can find cover in almost any environment, and rain does not bother it. It has been well trained.

The non-reaction seems to please most of the scientists, so the Asset simply hands the umbrella back and waits as they start the laborious process of setting up its trackers and preparing its equipment and running tests to ensure that it is in peak condition before it is sent back to sleep for the next mission. It’s a rhythm it has seen many times before, so it simply closes its eyes and just lets the scientists do as they will.

Except they do not send it back to sleep.

“Some of your targets managed to escape and flee to America,” says the Lady. “Your next mission is to track them down. We’re going to get them all.”

The Asset nods its understanding. It will not fail.

* * *

**grenade.**

“Is this . . . what I think it is?”

Given the way Roxy immediately schools her expression and Merlin sighs as he turns out even more gadgets from his pockets, Eggsy guesses that the answer is most definitely yes. And it’s like he was imagining that the American headquarters would also be a huge bloody mansion with a lake and a park and a forest, but he also didn’t expect it to be, well . . . be in a brewery. With a cheery “Statesmen Welcomes You!” sign on the door.

The agents who are supervising them as they divest themselves of potential weapons don’t even blink. 

“Oldest brewery in the state,” says one.

“Yeah, and actually the brew’s still pretty good,” muses another.

Merlin turns his wrist sleeve inside out and shakes it, and they all watch as three more trinkets clatter into the bin. He’s already filled three with the strangest gadgets Eggsy’s ever seen, and he’s seen the inside of Merlin’s thinktank room. Even Roxy only filled one bin, although Eggsy also wasn’t expecting the spare clipping hidden between her second and third sock.

The woman Merlin had greeted as Morgana sighs. “Any more hidden up your sleeve, Merlin?”

“I think that’s it.”

“With you,” she says fondly, “it’s never over. But I suppose if I were to truly take everything you actually had we’d be here until the end of time, so clear him through, gents. And Agent Lancelot too.”

Eggsy cocks a hip against the wall. “And me, darlin’?”

Morgana gives him an unimpressed look, even as Roxy fails violently at her containing her rolled eyes.

“You, boy, can pass when you hand over that grenade you’re trying to hide.” At his look of innocence, she barks, “Don’t look at me like that, boy. I used to sew fake pockets into everything and anything the Statesmen ever produced. You’ve either got an unknown body part that wasn’t recorded in your file or that is a lighter grenade, and I would know – I helped make them.”

Eggsy knows they need the Statesmen. The Kingsman are scattered and their HQ is a pile of smoking ash.

Still, he hesitates to hand this over.

Not because he thinks it makes him weak or vulnerable to these buffoons here guarding the entrance. He could take them down in three minutes flat. Roxy could probably do it in two, and maybe even less if she deigns to turn her sock into a garrote the way Merlin and her were experimenting with before the explosion.

But this hand grenade is the same one he tried to steal from under Harry’s nose, and it’s sort of become his . . . good luck charm, in a way. Every time he’s come close to using it, when he’s in a really tight corner, he’s always managed to find a way around it. 

It reminds him of Harry, charming, practical, and stubbornly insistent on proper protocol Harry.

Eggsy takes a deep breath and sets the grenade into the bin.

Morgana has a knowing expression on her face, and this one is realer, somehow, softer and gentler. “Don’t worry, Mordred,” she tells him. “You’re not the only one who’s clinging to good memories while they still can.”

Of course, it also helps that Roxy swipes it back for him, and that Merlin managed to get through with at least six of his gadgets hidden. They have to keep up the Kingsman’s reputation here.

* * * * * * * * *

To the Asset’s surprise, they derail it completely from the mission given back at the lab. The folder containing the three headshots is taken away to be replaced with a folder brimming with much more intelligence and a great deal more targets.

A part of the Asset is relieved by this, even if it doesn’t quite understand why.

Although for the first time, strangely, the Asset is actually given new restrictions on how it chooses to go about fulfilling this second surveillance and scouting mission. Generally HYDRA gives it free range to do as it wishes, sleep where it wills, and kill as it needs, but this time HYDRA gives him a very limited supply of weaponry at his disposal. They take away its smoke bombs and hand grenades, despite the fact that the Asset has shown the most proficiency with those particular weapons.

Instead, the Asset gets a few knives and exactly one gun.

They do not give the Asset a reason for this change, but then again they don’t need to. The Asset must do as it is ordered, and if they wish the Asset to do the same but without its typical weapons, then that is what the Asset will do.

Of course, now that the Asset is thinking more about it, maybe they just do not wish it to have a distinct call sign. It knows that the Black Widow used to be identifiable by its Widow Bites and the Winter Soldier by its sniper skills, so perhaps HYDRA is attempting to mold the Asset into something without a calling card. 

Perhaps, sometimes in the life before that does not matter, hand grenades and explosions were a calling card for the shell the Asset used to be.

In that case, the Asset welcomes the challenge and the gun. It will make great use of it and complete the mission all the same.

* * *

**nine.**

They give the Asset nine new targets to focus on. Some are relatively simple, and the Asset suspects them to be regular or inexperienced people, as most of them, when confronted with fighting it or running, chose to make a futile attempt at fleeing. 

Others require a bit more . . . focus. The Asset is given a very short time, due to an “unexpected acceleration of plans”, so it gives up on stealth and goes for brutal efficiency. 

Two require large doses of poison given via their morning coffees, one requires a bullet to the brain and heart in sleep, and yet another is robbed, shot point-blank in the face, and then dumped out the window.

The final target is on a whole other level than the other eight. She puts up a huge fight, even attempting to ignite a detonator instead of snap the cyanide implant the Asset’s research suggests she has. The Asset is forced to break her legs and her arms before it manages to snap her neck, and even then she sinks her teeth into its arm as she struggles to get free. The end result is an apartment so clearly a suspicious crime scene that the Asset shrugs and uses the detonator anyways to destroy all of the evidence, because if there’s one thing the Asset knows, it is that HYDRA favors something that can be easily explained away than for others to come sniffing.

Still, despite its best efforts, it still notices a great deal of suited agents crawling over the crime scene within a record six hours, so the Asset is also not surprised when it is given a very long punishment once it reports back.

Yet the nine targets are dead, so it does not matter. They will be the Asset to sleep again soon and it will forget the punishment and the pain.

* * * * * * * * *

They have exactly nine minutes to sit down after they’ve showered and started eating before Morgana cuts off mid-word with Merlin and starts swearing up a storm.

“You said you had it covered?” Merlin says dryly, but Eggsy still sees the way he touches Roxy’s leg, just once for reassurance, before he sneaks a hand down to his pants where he surely has weapons for them to use just in case. Merlin’s great like that.

Morgana closes her eyes. “This isn’t about Statesmen,” she snarls, sounding so incensed Eggsy braces for impact on instinct. “They won’t give a rat’s arse that you’re here now; we’ve got bigger problems.”

“Bigger than the UK HQ going to pieces?” Eggsy asks, because seriously. The only he thing he can think of that would be bigger than an entire branch of Kingsman going up in smoke would be, well, another Valentine-level event, except he’s pretty sure that Merlin would definitely already know if shenanigans on that level were going down. Plus if someone reactivated the SIM cards, they’d all be dead, because Merlin is lethal as hell on a good day and he’s already pretty pissed right now.

Morgana doesn’t answer, but she does abruptly stand and make a beeline for the stairs, so of course they all follow.

This ends up with them at in a huge room that couldn’t be any less than a huge middle finger to the Kingsman Round Table than if they were trying. The Statesman table is a huge round table with no head, modernized with swivel chairs and tablet screens everywhere. Instead of having portraits of founding members, the walls are cluttered with more screens to track potential threats and bullet-proof glass.

There are still lots of hologram members that flicker in as they enter though.

The only physically present members are Morgana, who drops a quick curtsy before falling into a seat at the left hand of a very scary blonde-haired woman.

“Merlin.”

Merlin inclines his head. “Queen Guinevere.” 

“Oh, we don’t stand on such ceremony here,” she says, like they couldn’t tell by her modern clothing and relaxed posture. Her voice is warm and welcoming, but her hands are callused when she stands to shakes their hands and her movements are no-nonsense and economical. She is a fighter.

“We’d like to thank you for allowing us sanctuary.”

“I’d accept your thanks, but that is not why I asked Morgana to bring you here,” she replies. “I’m afraid that a situation has come up. We are going to formally request the aid of an outside branch of Kingsman. A Statesman agent who we sent to work with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Logistics, and Enforcement Division has just been killed.”

* * *

**manners.**

They do not put the Asset on ice after the completion of its mission. However, they also do not give it a new mission.

Something is changing. The Asset can feel it.

One by one, the scientists disappear, and the remaining handlers get more and more frenzied. They hold whispered discussions all over the place, and this is nothing new since the Asset is just a means to an end, but now they do not hold back at all and fear is written all over their faces.

And then, one morning, the Asset wakes up and finds itself chained to the table, its eyelids taped back to prevent it from closing them as a new scientist garbed in a hazmat suit pokes at its bionic eye and prods at its skin and takes samples here and there. The former scientists are clustered in a tiny corner, knees shaking, and their voices squeak as they answer barked questions from new, hard-faced handlers by the new scientist.

Then, finally, it is released, and a new Lady appears. She looks it up and down, and then says, “Hmm. Perhaps it will do.”

The Asset says nothing. If it is given orders, it will complete them; there is no “perhaps” about it.

The Lady snaps her fingers impatiently. She is flanked by two stoic and heavily armed men, although the way she fingers the knives in her hands suggest that perhaps she doesn’t really need any protection from them. “What, did you cut out his tongue as well as his eye? Get him to speak!”

“No, he, uh, he came to us,” one of the old scientists squeaks when he’s prodded by a gun. “C – Came to us that way. Missing an eye. In Valentine’s Day.”

The Lady freezes. “What.”

“Valentine’s Day. The – The day – the day that – ”

In one smooth movement, the Lady straightens and flings a knife, and the scientist crumples, gurgling and scratching at his throat. One of her bodyguards immediately moves over to pick up the knife, clean it, and return it to her with a polite bow, although she seems more interested in the fact that the Asset didn’t react at all to her sudden movement.

It was not given a mandate to protect the scientists, at all.

“They really did a number on you, didn’t they?” she murmurs. “You didn’t even flinch. Well, then. Let’s see if you can speak.”

The Asset opens its mouth. It has not spoken in so long it is not certain it can still speak, but this is an order. “Good day, ma’am,” it says, and it is not quite sure where the words come from, but they feel right. Not to speak to this audience, but just to say. Perhaps this is something the Asset said before, in the life before HYDRA gave it a purpose.

“Really? Manners?”

“We couldn’t train it out of him.”

“Well, clearly, you didn’t try hard enough. Good-bye.”

The Asset still does not flinch, even as her man calmly and quickly cut down all of the remaining handlers and scientists, who die screaming and pleading. It does not even flinch when the Lady reveals the corpse of its former Lady, because clearly ownership has changed hands. It will do as it is commanded.

“So much for Hail HYDRA,” the Lady says softly, nudging at one corpse with her toe. “But no matter. We have work to do.”

The Asset follows.

* * *

**pickle.**

It turns out that the Statesmen, although remaining a separate and mostly secret organization apart from governmental spy agencies, actually has started reaching out to a few here and there. And by a few, actually one, as Morgana explains, and only because aliens descended on New York and obliterated the New York sub-branch of the Statesmen.

“What do you know about SHIELD?”

Eggsy shrugs. He’s sure that it came up in the briefings of “Agencies Not To Mess With” but after the mess of Valentine and the SIM cards, everyone’s really been cleaning up everyone’s messes, so who belongs to who has kind of been mostly lost in the shuffle. “They’ve got a really silly name and also Iron Man?”

This time, he gets _three_ glares in concert.

“We have an unspoken agreement with the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division,” Morgana explains. “We pass on the more . . . international or extraterrestrial cases, and they return the favor for cases pertaining to our jurisdiction. For the most part, it’s worked out well.”

“So when agents started expression an interest in SHIELD, you agreed to let a few join for the experience?” 

Morgana nods at Roxy, a faint smile on her face. “Exactly, and a SHIELD agent started working with us. Unfortunately, Agent Coulson perished shortly before the Battle of New York, as I understand it, and they haven’t quite gotten around to filling his position. And then yesterday I got word that after our agent was given a relatively low-profile asset to safeguard, she was brutally killed and her safe house torched to the ground.”

As she speaks, pictures start appearing on the screen behind her. The safe house is indeed quite destroyed, and internally Eggsy winces because sure, they’ve agreed to help but he’s not really sure what they could possibly help with, given that all of the evidence seems to have gone up in flames.

Given the way Roxy is biting her lip and Merlin is squinting, he imagines that they are on a similar wavelength.

Thankfully, a distraction prevents any discussion on that topic.

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” Roxy screams, flipping over the desk and running to the edge, although of course most of the Statesmen guards disregard her and continue aiming at the bloody and ragged figure with his hands raised in the entrance.

Morgana groans. “Merlin!”

“I can’t account for everything!”

“Stand down,” Morgana calls, rubbing at her forehead. “It’s another Kingsman agent. Late, as usual.”

Percival, as it turns out, is very happy to see all of them, especially Roxy, who he treats to an open and very long hug in a rare display of affection from the normally very reserved agent. He even clasps hands with Merlin and Eggsy, and for a moment, it’s like everything is okay, because there is still some hope left that other Kingsman agents are still alive.

Unfortunately, that hope is quickly dashed by more bad news.

“I’m afraid we might have bigger problems than Valentine,” Percival tells them, ignoring the cup of coffee someone offers him. “Your secret partner SHIELD is all over the news.”

Which is how they come to learn of a little fiasco involving Captain America, the Black Widow, the Winter Soldier, the crash of three helicarriers and destruction of the Triskelion, the death of the director of SHIELD, and the total and complete dissolution of SHIELD due to all the leaked classified information.

Which also puts all of them in a right pickle.

Merlin just looks at Morgana, who says, “Not. A. Word. Merlin.”

* * *

**suit.**

The Asset’s new handlers are strange. They do not attempt to reset it or put it on ice or even redo its memory. They simply start downloading its base files and begin asking it a lot of questions, almost as if trying to determine exactly how it functions, despite possessing all of the files that explain everything about it.

On the bright side, though, they do give the Asset a mission. 

The mission folder is rather simple. It contains three targets with headshots, permission to begin the mission when ready, and the equipment necessary to eliminate the targets effectively and quickly.

However, they also insist that the Asset do this mission in broad daylight. The Asset was trained like its fellows: to be silent and stealthy and sleek, often wearing gear that obscured all of its face and body and striking at night only to fade into the darkness and return to headquarters without a trace.

Now, the Asset is given a suit.

And not just any suit, but a bespoke suit, specifically tailored for its body and to conceal some of the weapons it uses.

The Asset finds that it needs no assistance or guidance to put on the various pieces of the suit or knot the tie around its neck or put on the finishing touches. It has never worn a suit for a mission before, but it assumes that maybe this was something it had done in a past life. 

In any case, the Asset has other concerns. When they offer it breakfast, they give it two options: toast or eggs. For the first time, it hesitates. There is something about the eggs . . . 

They delay the mission and send the Asset to get its memory wiped.

* * * * * * * * *

It’s not like Eggsy to be distracted, okay? He’s just . . . well, twitchy. Today. Certainly not because he hasn’t gotten much sleep and has only managed to snag a dry bagel for breakfast. Certainly not because he woke up and nearly tripped over Roxy and Merlin snuggling. And certainly not at all because his mom’s called twice and he missed both calls and he really doesn’t know how to explain the whole “fled to America because the mansion blew up” thing.

Anyways, Merlin thankfully does not call him out on it, despite the fact that his glasses must be flickering all over the damn place as he tries to still the jiggling of his legs.

Eggsy’s only back-up anyways. With the dissolution of SHIELD and the release of so much information, a lot of SHIELD agents have vanished or started looking for discrete new jobs, so Eggsy’s really just sitting here whilst other members of the Statesmen start holding meetings with former SHIELD agents.

There’s a lot of them.

Of course, he’s not just playing back-up for the safety of the SHIELD agent in question. He’s also there in case one of the interviewers decides that maybe they’ve got a HYDRA member sitting in front of them, in which case it’s hello surprise nap-time and time to call a car for the suddenly snoring person.

Even Morgana had admitted that the dart-shooting watches were marginally less ridiculous than she originally thought when first proposed.

“How many more we got today, Merls?”

Merlin makes a noise into the mic that could only be best described as “trodden on cat”. It gets funnier each and every time it comes out of Merlin’s mouth. 

“Two more,” Roxy says hastily from where she’s pretending to sip at a coffee she hasn’t actually taken a single drop from. Morgana took a liking to her, so Roxy gets to be one of the people watching the interviewees very carefully for any sign that they might be a threat. Eggsy just gets to sit up on the roof, freeze his butt off, and wait for a signal.

Eggsy’s just about to make another snarky retort when something catches him eye.

His entire body just stops.

Stops.

He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe. He’s not even sure his heart beats. How could anything in the world be moving when a dead man walks in a world long after he has departed it?

“Mordred?”

Eggsy spent a _lot_ of time looking at Harry. A lot. Most of that was due to the fact that he helped care for Harry when he was in the coma, but even after he came out, Eggsy still spent those twenty four hours with his mentor and not at all of it involved three piece suits. 

“Mordred, seriously?”

More importantly, he knows exactly what Harry looks like, how he dresses, how he moves.

“Eggsy – ”

He knows exactly what Harry’s suit looks like.

Eggsy rips the mic straight out of his ear, disassembles the gun and slips it in his pocket, slides down the rooftop, and takes off at a full on run. He doesn’t have time to explain this, but he is not letting Harry slip through his fingers yet again.

* * *

**church.**

There is someone tailing the Asset.

The person is clever. They stick to shadows and give the Asset a long distance to go before they leap. It almost is to be admired, how far they let the Asset go before they start following again. This person is truly a worthy opponent.

Yet this is not part of the Asset’s mandate. It was not given parameters to allow itself to be tracked, not even as a diversion or misdirection, and so this pursuer must be dealt with.

The sun beats down hot against the Asset as it considers and dismisses potential grounds for confrontation. An alley would do, except this person is skilled and moves like a dancer; the Asset suspects that the confrontation there might draw unwanted attention and allow the target to escape. A rooftop might do as well, except that the person leaps from place to place like a gymnast; the Asset’s strengths are in its brutality and its ability to strike with precision, and it would not choose a battleground where the advantages would be turned in its opponent’s favor. A bathroom is too confined and too open for an outsider to come in. A car accident would be difficult to stage without causing a lot of commotion and unwanted attention.

The Asset continues to walk. It has all the time in the world.

Besides.

It wants to see just how far its pursuer will go just to keep it in his or her sights.

As it turns out, the person is willing to keep on going even after two hours of walking around and around in endless new configurations. No matter where the Asset turns, it can always see the person, just out of the corner of its eye, peeking around the corner.

When it closes its eyes and activates its bionic eye, it can see that the person is armed, and quite heavily so.

The Asset spies an empty church. It’s a good a place as any. 

* * * * * * * * *

Eggsy knows that Merlin is most likely going to scream his ear off, murder him, and threaten to inject him with those stupid organic tracking devices they keep teasing him about from the Bond movies, and not necessarily in that order.

Still, he can’t stop.

With every step, he becomes more and more certain that he is following Harry. It’s Harry’s way of walking, Harry’s casual nonchalance as he eases through the crowd like a fish slipping through water, Harry’s calculated precision as he twists and turns and Eggsy nearly loses him twice or thrice among the crowds.

Eggsy really has no idea what to do. He doesn’t know what the Kingsman signal for “I thought you were dead but we’re on the same side please stop moving” is. 

Knowing Merlin, there probably is a signal, but Eggsy also dropped his mic about an hour ago so it’s not like he can ask. And Harry’s moving too bloody fast to even think about trying to approach him on street level.

So Eggsy just takes one more breath, takes one more step, one more look, one more, just one more.

And of course when Harry finally stops, he picks a church.

Of course he does.

The church is quiet and old and dark when Eggsy finally approaches. The door squeaks grumpily when he pushes it open, but he figures it’s better to give Harry some heads-up than to try and sneak up on him. He’s seen what Harry can do to people who try and sneak up on him, both through demonstrations with fellow Kingsman agents and less than friendly demonstrations with, well. Some other churchgoers.

“Harry?”

To his shame, he never sees the blow coming.

* * *

**eggs.**

Eggsy wakes up to cold water, handcuffs, and a lady giving him a very unimpressed look.

“Hey, there was a distinct lack of a ‘no trespassing sign’, so I’m pretty sure I’m in the clear,” Eggsy announces, twisting against the handcuffs. They’re really strong and also really loud, so mentally he starts running through ways to get out of them. Well, getting out is probably not going to be the problem. Doing so without anything noticing is the real issue.

“Gary Unwin, also known as Eggsy, also known as Agent Mordred, formerly of the United Kingdom branch of Kingsman,” reads the lady in a monotone voice. She looks up when he pauses and gives him a soft smile, almost motherly, except for the fact that her eyes remain cold as ice. “Rest assured that I do not say ‘formerly’ due to any fault of your own. The UK branch is considered mostly defunct now, is it not? Not to mention that, well, there won’t be much left of you returning to what’s left of them anyways, Mordred.”

“Mordred? What? Who – ”

“Oh, let’s not play games, Eggsy.” She closes the folder with a snap and leans forward. “I know exactly who you are. And to be honest, I feel like you’d probably be right on board with what I have planned.”

“Erm, considering you plan to kill me – ”

“Not that part.”

Eggsy doesn’t speak after that. Merlin’s trained him well on how to get information, even out of people who don’t want to or don’t think they’re telling you things. And this lady is hard to read, sure, but he can tell that his failure to rush straight into her trap leaves her somewhat deflated that she can’t gloat.

What is it with bad people and gloating anyways?

“You see, Eggsy,” the lady says eventually, sounding disgruntled, “you may have stopped Valentine and his crazy scheme. Applause to you and honor to your name. But do you know how many died during those minutes you were fighting to shut him down? Hundreds? Thousands? Millions? So many died, Eggsy, so many. So many unneeded deaths, and for what? For you and SHIELD and the Statesman and MI6 and the CIA and Mossad and every other goddamn agency tasked with protecting us to, to sweep it under the rug, like nothing had ever happened. You didn’t learn a damn lesson about anything. At least HYDRA tried to evolve.”

And doesn’t _that_ name ring a few bells in Eggsy’s head.

“You talking about that snake thing Hercules defeated?”

“It was not a snake, and his name was actually – never mind. I see Merlin has trained you well. And you’ve ditched your gear, so we can’t track you that way. Not that it matters.” She stands. “I’ve gotten all I need from you. Which was really not much at all, to be honest. Send in the Gentleman Knight, won’t you?”

Eggsy blinks. He’s heard a lot of code names, both through reading old mission reports and using temporary names on far-flung missions, but never that name. And yet this lady is speaking like he should know that name.

And then Eggsy sees Harry, face blank and eyes unblinking, and his very breath vanishes into the ether.

“You see, Eggsy, Kingsman has the wrong idea. Of course, HYDRA’s not right either, but, well. They gave me the Gentleman Knight.” She smiles, poison sweet, and taps a gentle finger against Harry’s chest. “What the world needs is something so strong no one will ever dare to repeat Valentine’s feat, and what is stronger than fear? The Knight will eradicate anyone or anything that threatens us again, and you, my dear, are number one on that list right now. Congratulations. You’ll be the first kill into world peace.”

Eggsy only just manages to squeak out Harry’s name before Harry takes three effortless steps and scoops him up, chair and all, to close powerful hands around his throat.

* * * * * * * * *

The target is squirming and struggling, and quite ineffectively for that matter. Although the Asset supposes that this could be due to the fact that he is bound hand and foot to his chair, and that the Asset is currently watching the life drain away from his eyes.

So strange, these man’s eyes. He’s never seen eyes like these.

And yet he has.

Somehow. Somewhere.

He knows these eyes.

The Asset blinks. It knows its mission. This target is a threat to its secrecy, and nothing is more important than remaining secret. Especially now, with all the chaos from SHIELD being exposed in a paltry attempt to save face. The Asset is the last line of defense against total world chaos and it must defend itself and this man must die.

The target is trying to speak. The Asset supposes that such a skillful opponent deserves at least one last word.

“Harry,” chokes the man.

The Asset does not know this name. Is it a prince? A character? A friend?

Behind him, the Lady sighs impatiently. “Time is ticking. Don’t be so polite. He must die, and so he will.”

But to be rude to one who is dying . . . 

“Manners,” wheezes the dying man. “Manners – Harry – Manners make – ”

_Potential._ The Asset sees these eyes, wide and desperate and full of tears, but so young, so sweet, so clueless. _Clouded_. The Asset sees these eyes, jaded and hurt and world-weary, in a cold police cell, on a stiff bench, in a warm car. _Fifty_. The Asset sees these eyes, laughing and smiling, making jokes about his age, his birthday – his, not it’s. _Umbrella._ The Asset sees these eyes, so intelligent and fierce, scanning over prospective weapons, questioning, always questioning. _Grenade._ The Asset sees these eyes, so mischievous, so daring, and he says, “Put it back” but he never means it. _Nine._ Nine seats, and one empty, and all his fault. _Manners._ One door closing, one door opening, knocking and not knocking, rude, polite, lessons. _Pickle._ A food in the cafeteria, a joke among friends, a lifelong friend always watching. _Suit._ Armor against the world, a gift for a beloved, protection against things he cannot guard himself. _Church._ A fight with no ending, screaming and blood and rage he cannot stop, he must fight and bleed and kill and kill and kill. _Eggs._. Eggs for breakfast, a joke for his Eggsy.

Eggsy.

Eggsy.

_Eggsy._

How could he ever have forgotten his Eggsy? 

Harry Hart loosens his grip. Widens his stance. Lowers his darling, beautiful, beloved Eggsy back to the floor, because this is the one soul in the whole world he owes everything to. He will never hurt Eggsy, never, no matter what anyone wants or tries to fiddle with his head. He owes Eggsy his life.

Then he gets to work.

**Epilogue**

Harry kills everyone in the room. It’s breathtaking and bloody and beyond description. As a Kingsman, Harry was skilled and fast, but here, now, it’s like he’s unstoppable, invincible. He is Death itself, and no one makes it past him.

Afterwards, Harry snaps his chains, returns his weapons, and does not speak.

“Harry,” Eggsy says, “how are you alive?”

A shake of the head. He doesn’t know. Okay. Eggsy can . . . sort of work with that.

“Are you hurt?”

Another shake.

“Do you know where we can find a car?”

Another shake.

“H – Harry.” Eggsy reaches out. He’s almost afraid to touch Harry. It’s like touching a dream really; once you touch it, it’s over. He doesn’t want to see Harry dissolve into dust in front of him again. “Harry, look at me, please. Do you remember me, Harry?”

“You should,” Harry says and stops. He clears his throat. “You should kill me.”

“What?!”

“I don’t – they did something. A lot of things. To me. I don’t know myself – anymore. I’m dangerous. I shouldn’t be around – I shouldn’t exist. I shouldn’t be alive.”

Eggsy grabs him. Harry is so cold, but so solid. He’s real. He’s real and alive and here and Eggsy is not taking any kind of ‘no’ from him now, of all times. Harry won’t meet his eyes, but his bionic eye will and yeah, it’s a little creepy, but this is still Harry. Bathrobe wearing, tea loving, butterfly collecting Harry. Eggsy will never let him go again.

“But you are alive. And you’re coming home. With me.”

“You should just – ”

“You didn’t hurt me now. I don’t think you can. I’m safe with you, aren’t I?”

Harry looks at him like he thinks Eggsy is a dream. It’s so surreal. His hand shakes when it touches Eggsy’s cheek. “I don’t know who I am anymore,” he whispers.

Eggsy kisses him. Just a soft kiss, on the cheek. He thinks Harry could do with a bit of gentleness now.

“Then let’s find out together,” Eggsy says, and leads them into the light.

FINIS

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! If you have any feedback please let me know, especially because this is my first Kingsman fic and I'm still figured a lot of things out.
> 
> Also, definitely go check out the other works being posted in the [Reel Kingsman AO3 collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Reel_Kingsman) or on the [Reel Kingsman tumblr](http://reel-kingsman.tumblr.com/). Some of my Kingsman author idols are there and their works are gorgeous!
> 
> Lastly, you can also come say hi on [tumblr](http://thesilverqueenlady.tumblr.com)! It's an embarrassing gluttony of Hannibal stuff right now cuz Rogue One & Mads Mikkelsen, but, you know, once Kingsman 2 comes out I'm sure it'll be full of Eggsy and Harry again :D


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